The Aftermath
by Donna Vito Frutti
Summary: In the aftermath of the battle, the Malfoys were huddled together separate from the others in the Castle, who were mourning their dead as well as celebrating the death of Voldemort. Draco went through it all in a daze. He was still in shock. Everywhere he looked,he could only see death, death, death. The price of dark magic and darker ambitions. Death, and destruction, and blood."


**THE AFTERMATH**

**The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition**

**Season 2**

**Round 2**

**Position**** \- Beater 1**

**Team ****\- Wimbourne Wasps**

**Prompts ****\- Quicksand, burying,creature**

**Disclaimer**** \- JKR owns it all**

**A/N**** \- Enjoy**

**THE AFTERMATH**

It seemed like he was slowly sinking into a quicksand. As though, he were being sucked into the harsh reality of a life that was alien to him. The battle had ended and he could feel no joy, no grief…nothing. Not yet. He could not allow himself to feel. It would be too much…  
"Draco." His mother placed a comforting arm on his shoulder, but he could feel no comfort. He still felt empty. Drained. Numb. Perhaps, it was the death of his friend, right before his eyes. Perhaps, it was the entire battle, or the fact that he had survived.  
He glanced at his father sitting with his face buried in his hands. Surely, he, too, was responsible for all this. He may not have cast the spell that shed the blood, but the Dark Lord had been _his _master, as much as of the other death eaters.  
_And mine_, Draco thought. _I'm a death eater, too. Didn't I choose the Dark Lord, as much as he did?  
_Draco felt the dark mark burning into his skin. This, perhaps, was to be his legacy. A mark of all the wrong choices he made in his life and a sign of all his failures. This was to remain as a constant reminder that he, too, was to blame for the actions of his master. That he too, was a murderer. Just like the Dark Lord, his master was a murderer.  
The Dark Lord who had promised a new world order. A haven for the pure blood and an age where wizards were no longer in hiding. He had always spoken of the purity of blood. Yet, now, all the illusions of blood purity lay shattered around him. So, that, then, was the price. The true end that the Dark Lord had always sought.  
Everywhere he looked, he could only see death, death, death…The price of dark magic and darker ambitions. Death, and destruction, and blood.  
Draco felt nauseated.  
In a distance he could see the Weasleys, who were gathered around a body. He realized that it was one of the twins, for he could see the other, possibly, George Weasley, grieving, and his sobs racking his body…and he could see the lifeless bodies of many others who were slain in the battle...their eyes were unseeing, and staring up...  
Friends? Foes? It didn't really matter now, for they were all equal in death.  
This was not a world order that was promised. This was a bloody massacre and a mindless destruction that was assured. A murder of countless innocent souls who had lived and breathed as he did now. He could see that now. _How had he not seen it before?_  
The service to the Dark Lord had taken its own toll on his family. His mother had had to stand by and watch the consequences of her husband's actions and her own prejudices unfold before her eyes; watch as death eaters and werewolves took over their home like they had taken over their lives; watch as murders were committed right before them; and watch as her own son performed an unforgivable curse…  
For his father, atleast, the ordeal had been terrible. He had suffered, first, from his imprisonment in Azkaban, and then from the Dark Lord himself. But then, his failures had been paid for. He, Draco had paid for them through his own service. The mark that was carved into his skin had been the contract of service that bound him to his master. And his master had assigned him an impossible task.  
Dumbledore's death.  
An assignment that guaranteed his failure, and thus, death by the hands of the very master whom he served. Draco remembered the night…he had been so filled with a sense of hopelessness, as to seek comfort in the dead...

"_No one can help me." _He was shaking_. "I can't do it…I can't…It won't work…and unless I do it soon…he says he'll kill me…"_

He had almost given it all up, then. He could have gone for help, then. But he hadn't. No, he had been too cowardly. He also remembered the night of Dumbledore's death, when Dumbledore had appealed to him, and asked him to choose the right path, while, also assuring him that he could guarantee his and his family's protection.

"_You are not a killer,"_ Dumbledore said.

Why hadn't he accepted then? Simply, because, he had been too scared? Too scared, by then, to even choose the course of action that he knew, had always known, to be right?  
In the end, it was his mother who had chosen. She had picked a side and had chosen her family, whole and complete. She had chosen her family over her own prejudices and over everything else. Even blood purity.  
The threat to their family had finally opened their eyes and allowed them to see the Dark Lord for who he really was- a mindless tyrant and a ruthless killer.  
His father still wielded enough influence to exonerate them all, perhaps. But that was not going to be enough. They were never going to be the same, again. Not entirely. This war had shaken up his family too badly. Draco suddenly felt a deep sense of disgust for himself.  
A coward. He had neither fought for Hogwarts, nor fought on the side of the Death Eaters. But he had already joined the ranks of murderers when he had tried to murder Dumbledore. He had stood by and watched the torture of a fellow student...  
His entire life he had believed in the superiority of his family. Now, the very people he had once thought beneath him, had fought bravely against the Dark Lord. It was they who had freed him from a frightening allegiance.  
And they had died honourably.  
His hands would forever be stained with the blood that was spilt in the battle. Forever dirtied and bloody. As bloody as his tainted heart. Perhaps, he would never feel whole again. Perhaps, he would never feel. He felt like a miserable creature-  
"Are you alright, Draco?" Draco was shaken out of his thoughts by his father's voice. It was barely more than a whisper and sounded drawn. He glanced at his father, again. Lucius Malfoy looked pale and haggard, and just tired, looking, perhaps, as miserable as he felt.  
"I'm fine," he replied, though, not quite feeling it. He felt his mother grasp his shoulder once more. Draco turned to her. All around him, Hogwarts was celebrating the bittersweet victory.  
"We'll get through this," she said, softly and embraced him. Narcissa turned to Lucius. "It's going to be alright." She reached out to Lucius, who took her hand in his. Lucius nodded. They wanted to believe that. Draco allowed himself to feel a little comfort in their presence. He allowed himself to believe his mother's words. Perhaps they would. He felt strangely calm.

_**A/N**_** \- Draco is actually in shock. All the terror and fear of past so many months and the death of his friend is crashing down on him. Victory of the battle is only slowly sinking in. Lucius and Narcissa are just glad they found their son.**

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